


Mustafa Ali Saves the World

by storyranger



Series: Cruising for a Bruising [2]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Bayley Finn Kevin Sami AJ Shinsuke Elise and Baron are also in this, Betrayal, Blind Ambition, Idiots in Love, M/M, Making Up, Mustafa is just trying his best, Reconciliation, Valentine's Day, Waffles, but they're not as important, oh I guess Drake Maverick shows up too, things gone too far
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 23:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13692186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyranger/pseuds/storyranger
Summary: but it was not your fault but mineand it was your heart on the linei really fucked it up this timedidn’t i my dear?Drew thought it would be different if it was Tony in the ring against him.He was wrong.Now the question is, can he trust Mustafa Ali to help him make it right?





	Mustafa Ali Saves the World

**Author's Note:**

> Begins immediately after 205Live Feb 13/17 goes off the air, and assumes that SmackdownLIVE, MMC, and 205Live are taped one after the other in the same arena.

Drew really had been serious, when he’d offered to forfeit. But Tony wouldn’t hear of it.

“We both deserve to be in that final,” he’d reasoned. “I’m not letting you throw away your shot.”

He shouldn’t have listened to him.

He should have remembered how he got once he stepped in the ring and the adrenaline kicked in. How quickly reason evaporated and instinct took over. How ferociously he’d scratch and claw before he’d let himself be bested. Sometimes it didn’t even feel like it was completely him in the ring, but like someone else was there too, someone far more ambitions then he could ever be, sharing his body and egging him onwards.

He’d thought it would be different if he was in there with Tony.

He’d been wrong.

 

It takes about 4 minutes for the adrenalin to wear off and the full weight of what he’s just done to hit him. He’s reached the back, and catches sight on the monitor of the refs scraping Tony up off the floor. A few of the other cruiserweights are milling about, and their heads all swivel towards him as he bursts through the curtains. Their expressions range from respect to fear to pity. He catches sight of himself in Ariya Daivari’s shades; he looks feral, face bloodied and eyes wild.

He can’t even remember whose blood this is.

That sets him over the edge. His stomach revolts and he barely makes it to the locker room before he’s puking his guts out. Wave after wave, retching and heaving until he almost believes it will never end. His throat is burning and his insides feel hollowed out. He can’t remember ever feeling this _broken_.

Eventually there’s nothing left to bring up, and he allows himself to collapse onto the floor as he continues to dry heave, welcoming the cold bathroom tiles against his flushed face. Every muscle in his abdomen is on fire.

Just as he’s wondering if he could get away with falling asleep right there on the locker-room floor, there’s a knock at the door.

“Gulak?”

Great. The last thing he needed right now was for Prince Perfect to see him like this.

Another knock.

“Fuck off, Mustafa.”

“I’m coming in.”

Drew wants to get up and lock the door, but his legs have turned to jello. Instead he settles for dragging himself upright until he’s at least sitting instead of lying in the fetal position, letting out a frustrated grunt in the process.

“You okay?”

“What does it look like?” Drew spits out bitterly. Another round of dry heaving hits him, and he slumps back against the toilet, trying to suppress a groan.

“Tony’s with the trainers right now. He’s pretty battered but there are no major injuries. Some ice and rest and he’ll be good as new.”

A wave of relief sweeps through him, followed by a pang of loss. Tony’s going to be fine, and Drew may never be fine again. Of course, it’s now that he’s lost Tony forever that he’s realizing just how much he’s in love with him. He’s known he loves him for a while. Since before he could ever imagine Tony reciprocating. But he’s never realised the depths of these feelings. It went beyond desire, beyond lust. And now it was ruined.

Mustafa’s kneeling over him now, handing him a water bottle and looking at him with sympathy.

“Go to him.”

Drew stares at him like he’d said it in Urdu instead of English.

“I mean it, Gulak. You have to go to him.”

“I can’t.”

“Do I sound like I’m giving you a choice?”

“Why the hell do you even care?”

“Have you not been listening? I’m here to fix the world.”

“As admirable as that sentiment is, fairly certain this piece of it can’t be fixed.”

“So you’re going to just give up and throw this away? Come on, Gulak. How long have you two been together?”

“A week.”

“Yeah, yeah, cut the crap Drew.”

“6 days, technically.”

“Wait…” Mustafa stares at him, slowly realizing he’s not lying. “You’re serious.”

“I don’t know that you could call it together, we hadn’t really gotten to that conversation yet-”

“I can’t freaking _believe_ this. It took you morons _two years_ to get your heads out of your butts and admit your feelings?”

“Are you here to mock me or help me, Ali? Because you have about 30 seconds to pick a side before I deck you.”

Mustafa raises an eyebrow at Drew, who’s still crumpled in a heap against the toilet. “Mhmmmm. I’m shaking in terror.”

“Please,” Drew says faintly, with a tremble in his voice so unexpected that Mustafa almost believes he imagined it. “Don’t kick a man when he’s down.”

“Okay. I’m sorry. I’m here to help, I swear.”

“I thought we were enemies.”

“I don’t have enemies, except for fascists. I have friends and not-yet-friends. Enough relationships have been destroyed this year, Drew. I’m not letting you two halfwits ruin yours as well.”

“What do I do?” Drew asks, softly.

“You love him, right?”

Drew nods. He hasn’t managed to say it aloud to Tony yet, but it’s no less true.

“Then you prove it. A grand romantic gesture. Put your heart on the line. Pick yourself up off the floor and go win him back.”

Mustafa reaches out and hauls Drew to his feet. He’s pale as death and a bit shaky, but he manages not to keel over. Mustafa wrinkles his nose.

“But first you’re gonna need some mouthwash. Sorry, friend, but your breath right now’s foul.”

 

***

 

They hadn’t actually managed to find mouthwash. Instead he’d had to make do with gargling some Scotch nicked off of Gallagher. It was maybe a mistake, on an empty stomach, but it’s not like he’d swallowed it.

Well, not much of it.

“It’s insulting that you automatically assume I know every mediocre folk-rock group’s entire discography,” grumbles Elias Samson, scowling up at them from his perch on an equipment case. His ribs are bandaged and his hair unkempt, but his beloved guitar is still intact. Bayley and a security guard with an electric blue undercut stand over him, fussing.

Mustafa “Okay, but can you play it?”

“Well _yes_ , but the fact that you _assumed_ I would-”

“But you _do know it_ ,” Drew cuts in, getting impatient.

Elias grunts, crossing his arms. “What’s in it for me?”

Drew hadn’t given thought to a payment. Things were a little tight right now, what with merch sales taking their traditional post-Christmas hit. _But it’s Tony,_ he thinks. _Whatever it takes, it’s worth it._

He swallows and pulls out his wallet, emptying the contents and shoving it towards Elias. “If it’s not enough, there’s an ATM near catering.”

Elias eyes the handful of bills, considering.

“Oh come on, Elias. It’s for love,” Bayley whines, making puppy dog eyes at him. Elias sighs, and the security guard, now standing a few feet down the hall, rolls their eyes. There’s something going on here that Drew’s missing, but right now he’s just grateful for Bayley interceding on his behalf.

“Fine,” he concedes, brushing Drew’s outstretched hand away. “Put the money away. But I _don’t_ work for free.”

“What do you want?”

“A favour.”

“What kind of favour?”

“Nothing you can’t bear.”

“Deal.”

Elias holds out a hand, and Drew shakes it. Bayley’s beaming, and her smile only gets brighter as Finn Bálor rounds the corner and plants a gentle kiss on Bayley’s temple.

“Ready to go, _macushla_?” he lilts, and Bayley nods. “Samson, you have a ride?” he continues, and Elias nods. Bayley leans down to give him a quick hug.

“Get some rest, okay? There’s still a chance we get the second chance spot.” Elias nods again, and she walks away with Finn, tucked against his side as he ruffles her hair. Elias stares after her with a wistful smile, and Drew thinks he might have figured out what’s going on. Electric Blue’s radio blares, and they shake their head at Elias before wandering off to answer.

“Come on, boys. We don’t have all night,” Mustafa interjects, shaking the car keys in Drew’s face while he waves a hand in Elias’s. Elias bats it away, growling in annoyance. “Need us to carry your stuff or-”

“I’ve got it,” Elias snaps, slinging his guitar over his shoulder with a wince and picking up the case. He reaches over to grab his gear bag, too, but Mustafa’s already bounding down the corridor with it.

“Oh, you’re gonna owe me, fucker,” Elias murmurs, and Drew begins to wonder if this was a horrible idea after all.

 

***

 

Okay, yep. This was a horrible idea.

“Come on, Gulak,” Mustafa urges, “we’re wasting moonlight.”

“Which window is his?” Drew asks for the fourth time, trying to stall.

“That one,” Mustafa answers, pointing confidently. “Three up, two from the right.”

_Of all the corners of the world for him to choose to fix tonight…_

“Here goes nothing,” Drew mutters aloud, pulling one of his “Gulak for a Better 205Live” pins out of his bag. He takes a deep breath and chucks the pin as hard as he can. It hits squarely in the middle of window with a tinny _thud_ , bouncing off to land in the shrubs below.

There’s a flash of motion behind the curtains, and his breath hitches as the window begins to slide open.

It’s Electric Blue.

“Shit,” he curses. “Sorry, I-”

“Nese is that one,” they say, gesturing to the window next to them.

“Oh. Um. Cool,” he splutters, lost for words.

“ _Men,_ ” they say, exasperated. A pale arm shoots out and raps three times on Tony’s window before disappearing as quickly as they came.

“What the hell-” he can hear Tony ask as he begins to open the window.

“Tick, tock.” Elias murmurs behind him. Tony’s looking around now, and it’s a matter of seconds before he spots them down here.

He wants to apologize, to flee, to scream that this was all Mustafa’s idea, to cry. But he’s in too deep now. He’s committed. Behind him, Elias has already begun strumming the opening chords, and it’s now or never.

So Drew sings.

 

**_weep for yourself, my man_ **

**_you'll never be what is in your heart_ **

**_weep little lion man_ **

**_you're not as brave as you were at the start_ **

And okay, Drew’s always been a stronger public speaker then a vocalist. But he’s pouring his entire being into the lyrics, and Tony doesn’t look away from the moment he starts singing. Their eyes lock and it makes Drew feel like Tony can read his mind.

**_rate yourself and rake yourself_ **

**_take all the courage you have left_ **

**_and wasted on fixing all the problems_ **

**_that you made in your own head_ **

_Please. I’m sorry. I’m begging you. Let me fix this._

**_but it was not your fault but mine_ **

**_and it was your heart on the line_ **

**_i really fucked it up this time_ **

**_didn't i, my dear?_ **

**_didn’t i my-_ **

 

“Go the fuck to sleep!” shouts a rough voice with a heavy French accent from a few floors up.

“ _Kevin, laisse lui être_!” says another, and Kevin growls.

“What the fuck’s your problem?” yells a heavy Georgian drawl from a second floor window.

A calm voice floats down from the fourth floor in response. “AJ. I’m going to beat you at Wrestlemania.”

“Damnit, Shinsuke!” the southern voice screams back, loud enough to wake up anyone in this side of the building still left sleeping.

“Just let the man sing.” This one comes from the third floor, and it’s Baron Corbin, of all people. He’s leaning so his entire torso is out of the window, and his tattoos are unmistakeable even from this distance. “Just get it finished before security evicts us all.”

“Speaking of security,” Elias mutters under his breath, and Drew spots two heavyset men in black polos beginning to make their way across the parking lot.

Mustafa curses violently in Urdu and jams the keys in the ignition. Elias swings down from his perch on the roof of the van and jumps into the back, guitar cradled in his lap.

“Drew, we gotta go. Now!” Mustafa calls, but Drew’s frozen, staring into Tony’s eyes, searching for any sign of emotion.

“Gulak! _Move it_ ,” Elias barks, and this time Drew hears them and notices the security, who’ve picked up the pace considerably. He scrambles into the shotgun seat and doesn’t even have time to buckle his seatbelt before Mustafa’s peeling out of the parking lot.

Mustafa waits till they’re a few blocks away and driving the speed limit before speaking. “Well, that went-”

“I need alcohol. Now.”

“I think maybe you shouldn’t-”

“ ** _No_** ,” he spits, harshly. “No more thinking from you tonight.”

Mustafa bites his lip and heads for the nearest bar.

 

***

 

Drake Maverick shows up early the next morning to drag him over the coals for causing a disturbance. It’s the last thing Drew needs, hungover and miserable as he is, but to his credit he takes it squarely on the chin.

“You nearly had the entire roster evicted!” Maverick roars after a solid ten minutes of lecturing. “Do you have any idea how many customers complained about a disturbance last night that the hotel’s decided to give partial refunds to? Refunds that _we’re_ footing the bill for, mind. Stephanie McMahon’s threatening to make the cruiserweight division go back to booking their own shit, for chrissakes.”

Drew bites his tongue. Pointing out that Maverick’s volume level right now is probably also liable to cause disturbances feels like a battle not worth picking.

“I don’t know what kind of shenanigans you all think you’re entitled to get up to, but now that there’s a general manager I expect you all to act like adults.”

“Yes sir. Won’t happen again, sir.”

“You’re a cracking good wrestler, Gulak. If you weren’t, you’d be out on your ass. Don’t test me again.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“And for fuck’s sake brush your teeth, mate, you smell like a bloody bar mat.”

With this parting shot Maverick storms out, and Drew uses his last bit of strength to shut the door before collapsing face-down on the bed. He lets out a small groan as a wave of nausea hits, but luckily (?) he’d already thrown up the falafel that Ali had convinced him to eat on the way back from the bar.

“You’ll be even sicker if you eat nothing” Mustafa had reasoned, and Drew had been too drunk to argue.

“I’m never drinking again” Drew whispers into the mattress.

“We both know that’s a load of bullshit.”

“Not true. Mean it this time.” Drew groans back.

_Wait. Who said that?_

Drew flips over and sits up quickly to face the intruder, grabbing the hefty alarm clock off the side table to defend himself with. The swiftness of these actions coupled with the hangover and the fact that he hasn’t kept food down for almost 12 hours is enough to make him incredibly light-headed. Light-headed enough, in fact, that he initially thinks he’s hallucinating.

Tony Nese stares back, expression unreadable.

“Hey, Drew.”

“Tony.”

“I heard Maverick yelling from upstairs. He has a point: you smell like you took a bath in whisky.”

“I’m so-” Drew starts, but Tony sits down next to him and puts a hand over his mouth.

“Shh. Just let me talk now, okay?”

Drew swallows hard and nods. He focusses all his energy on staying upright, but he’s definitely listing to one side. Tony instinctively puts an arm out to steady him, and Drew seizes up at the contact. He wants more than anything to melt into that touch, but he’s terrified Tony will come to his senses and pull the arm away.

“What you did last night? In the ring? It stung, Drew. I’m not going to sugar-coat it. That finish was complete overkill, and we both know it. Hurt like a hell, more ways than one.”

“Tony-”

“I wasn’t finished.” Drew shuts his mouth and stares at his feet. Tony continues talking, his voice becoming gentler. “I’m still the one who insisted we go ahead with the match. And you know, maybe I wasn’t completely over what you’d done, and I thought I could dig at you a little in the ring by refusing the handshake. Maybe, if I’m being completely honest, I thought I had the upper hand going into it. Thought beating you could be my little piece of revenge.”

“I would have forfeited for you, Tony.”

“I know, Drew. I know. That’s why I’m here. You fucked up, big time. And I can’t forget that. But I fucked up too. And I think whatever this is, between us? It deserves another chance.”

Drew, swept away by a torrent of emotion he didn’t think he had left in him at this point, bursts into tears. He’s lost control of his mouth, and a stream of nonsense flows forth, strangled apologies mixed with regrets and promises. Tony wraps him in a hug, rocking him gently as the sobs gradually subside and are replaced with silent shaking. He’s managed to get Tony’s face wet, too, or maybe Tony started crying and Drew just didn’t notice, consumed as he was by his inability to put together words that could convey how he felt.

Eventually the shaking stops too, and a stillness settles over the room as they continue clinging to each other, the sunlight bleeding through the curtains lighting Tony up like the angel he was.

Drew’s stomach chooses this moment to gurgle loudly. He turns away, embarrassed, but Tony gently nudges his face till he meets his eyes.

“Bro, when’s the last time you ate?”

“3:00am?”

Tony shakes his head, getting up to find the hotel’s room service menu.

“Price gouging,” Drew mumbles, shaking his head weakly as Tony sits back down and begins leafing through the breakfast section. Despite the fact that Tony got the worst of it in their match, going up against the premier athlete has certainly taken its toll on Drew. Account for Tony’s abnormally fast recovery rate and add in the damage Drew had done to himself last night on top of everything, it really shouldn’t be surprising to him that he can barely stand while Tony’s bouncing around the room.

“You’re not going to feel better till you get some food into you, baby. Come on. We can have a cheat meal, get waffles with all trimmings. Look, there’s even a couple’s special.”

Drew’s too distracted by Tony’s use of the word “couple” so close to the word “baby” to protest any further.

 

***

 

By the time room service knocks on the door, Drew actually _is_ hungry.

“Oh wow. That’s something,” Tony murmurs, a rueful grin on his face as he brings the tray over to the arm chair Drew’s managed to move to. A compromise, between staying in bed like Tony urged him to or eating at the table like a civilized person. Halfway happy.

The waffles are thick and fluffy, piled with a mountain of red fruits and a generous layer of powdered sugar. Chocolate ganache is swirled in hearts around the edges of the plate, and there’s a few larger strawberries cut into heart shapes to complete the elaborate dish. It’s completely tacky, and Drew’s not sure he’s ever seen something more beautiful in his life. Tony settles himself on the ottoman next to him, handing him a fork, and he immediately starts pushing the raspberries onto Tony’s side out of habit. After a moment Tony reaches over, suddenly bashful, with a forkful of the most chocolatey section he could find. Drew smiles for the first time that morning and opens his mouth.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Drew,” Tony whispers, his free hand finding Drew’s and squeezing tight. Drew hasn’t talked with his mouth open since he was three years old, but he squeezes back and it gets the message across. Tony brings Drew’s hand to his lips and kisses it softly, the coarse hairs of his beard tickling Drew’s palm.

“I love you, dummy.”

 

Tony’s not naïve. This won’t be the last time Drew fucks up. Not by a long shot, and they both know it. Sooner or later, Drew’s ambition will get the better of him.

But Tony is strong.

And Drew is his mistake to make.

**Author's Note:**

> Little Lion Man belongs to Mumford and Sons.  
> Happy belated Valentine's Day :)


End file.
